


Dreaming During Sleepless Nights

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teching for My Chemical Romance comes with some interesting benefits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming During Sleepless Nights

Bob likes to have conversations with the Ways when they’re loopy from lack of sleep. Bob’s not sure what it is about touring with someone. When he’s at home he likes a decent eight or nine hour sleep, just like anyone else. On tour it’s like his body knows that’s just not gonna happen and decides to man up. He can slip into a dozen twenty minute naps over the span of a day and be just fine. Frank, Otter, Ray and Brian are all pretty good at getting longer periods of time, they don’t wake up when the van’s parked unless they get kicked as someone’s crawling over them for a piss break.

The Ways though. The brothers both need quality sleep and are completely incapable of sleeping in the van. He’s stumbled on them more times than he can count curled together on the couch backstage while Frank glares daggers at anyone that walks into the room, Ray’s coat spread over them like a blanket. He’s even seen them in a pile on the floor when the venue’s bad enough to not even have couches for them.

It never seems to affect their playing. Neither does the mass quantities of alcohol they drink. It’s sort of impressive, actually. Gerard can be leaning against a wall so doesn’t fall over, and the moment they step on to the tiny stage he’s sweaty and greasy and in control of the entire fucking room. He doesn’t understand how the alcohol doesn’t make them sleepy, but Gerard can be puking drunk and still not pass out.

Bob likes having conversations with them when they’re drunk, or a bit loopy from lack of sleep. Not that they’re entirely normal even fresh as a daisy, but after twenty four hours awake the topics that come up can be pretty interesting. He always sits with them when he’s got the chance.

Picking your seat for the next few hours until they need more gas or a place to pee is always political. He can’t sit beside Frank for longer than twenty minutes before he gets the strong urge to murder him with a hatchet. Which is fine, because Frank is generally needed to keep Otter separate from Ray. Ray with either Way will result in drawn out conversations about video games and table top games Bob’s never heard of, though by the end of the hour he imagines he could play them if given the controller or set of cards. Frank with Mikey will cause a hundred in-jokes about Eyeball. Bob knows he’s got the same thing with Brian, except at least Mikey and Frank have ties to the rest of the band that they can fall back on. If Bob segregates himself with Brian for too long, he’s worried he won’t be able to come back.

So it’s usually Mikey and Gerard, and it’s usually three in the morning, Gerard wearing the same pair of jeans he’s been wearing for the last week, soft enough that they feel like flannel if Bob finds an excuse to touch his thigh, Mikey with his beanie pulled over his eyes like if it’s only dark enough he can actually sleep. Mikey will theorise that even if unicorns existed people would never be able to see them because everyone is far too corrupt, and Gerard will argue that children could, and Mikey will ask what child hasn’t been changed by commercials and capitalism and Bob will suggest that probably in North America nobody could see them, but maybe African countries, and Mikey will counter with starving kids care just as corrupted with darkness as kids that demand a Nintendo for Christmas, and it’ll go on until Bob finds himself drifting off.

When he wakes up he’s always worried for a second that they’ll find his easy sleep a betrayal, but they never seem to. They’ll just be playing Gameboy on mute and Bob will start up something else. Or pull out a flashlight and read, because you can’t talk all the time.

One of the nights he falls asleep and wakes up to Gerard humming along with his cd player, the back seat dimly lit by the green glow of Mikey’s tetris game, rock hard in his jeans. Which isn’t that big of a deal, it’s an unspoken rule that if you think you can jerk off without making enough noise to attract the attention of others you can go ahead. And while any noise is enough noise, there are some -Frank- that don’t have a shred of shame in their body and do it regardless.

So it’s not that he couldn’t. Gerard is sitting beside him and he’s probably too into his music to notice, and Mikey, like Frank, is completely shameless and wouldn’t care. It’s that the awesome dream he had makes him equal parts horny and frustrated, and there’s no point in jerking off when it’s just going to make him mad.

“You know what’s crap?”

Either his voice is loud or Gerard has the volume really low, because he responds by slipping down the headphones until they’re dangling on his neck. Mikey doesn’t look up from his game, but Bob’s sure he’s listening. He’s not so sure about Brian. He’s in the driver’s seat, so he may or may not be able to hear. It doesn’t really matter either way, they’ve already had this conversation among dozens of other ones, drunk and revealing too much.

“Just because I have a beard, I’m expected to be a big bearish power-top. Christ, can’t a guy just get laid?”

So technically he’s outing himself. He’s not exactly risking something. Frank and Mikey hook up indiscriminately, Gerard had Bert, and that’s just what he knows. It’s probably a decent bet to say that everyone in the van has hooked up with at least one other person in the van.

“Woke up from this great dream, hot ass brunet pushing me over a kitchen table and just going at it. I don’t even want to jerk off, because when exactly am I going to get that? Never.”

“Might,” Mikey tosses out.

“Yeah? When was the last time you were in a kitchen while on tour? Not to mention that I am somehow unfuckable. Two nights ago I found a guy up for sex in the bathroom, and when we got there and I gave him a condom he refused. Actually backed out of the stall! The fuck is that?”

“Frank’d fuck you,” Mikey offers. Bob wants to laugh out loud, settles for shaking his head. He’s not going to be asking the man for anything. Frank’s been with Jamia forever, and he doesn’t quite understand the list of exceptions and ‘it’s okay ifs’ they’ve got. If he’s the cause of Frank and Jamia breaking up and Frank going off the deep end and My Chemical Romance ending he’ll be murdered. And probably not by the relatively painless broken neck method. The guys in this band spend a LOT of time watching horror films. They're practically murder honor students. Not to mention that it would just suck to not have the band.

“Gerard’d fuck you.” Bob’s head snaps to the left to look at both of them again. It’s hard to tell in the eerie green glow, but he thinks Gerard might be blushing. Mikey’s face is pretty blank, but then that’s common for him. He only remembers to use expressions four conversations in ten.

“I’d rather not. But I’d let you suck me. If you want.” He must still be dreaming. It’s the only possible solution. There’s not a chance that Mikey is suggesting what he sounds like he’s suggesting. There is no conceivable way Mikey is offering a threesome.

Still, if it’s a dream then there’s not really a reason to say no. So he twists in the seatbelt until he’s mostly sideways. It’s awkward, but it’s good enough to lean forward and kiss Gerard. His lips taste like sour cream and onion chips, and if Bob’s mouth wasn’t occupied he’d snicker.

Bob feels the tap on his shoulder, the classic ‘may I cut in’ gesture. He pulls away from Gerard and leans out as far as the belt will let him before saying screw it and undoing it. If Brian comes to a sudden stop and he goes ricocheting through the van he'll still have made out with both the Ways. The goal outweighs the consequences.

But Mikey doesn't kiss him. Instead he goes for Gerard which holy fucking shit. It should be so _so_ wrong but it isn't. He should be looking away, telling them they need to stop. Instead he watches the way Mikey’s fingers curl around the nape of Gerard’s neck and wishes he could get a better angle of it. If they were in a hotel, he could see whatever he wanted, however he wanted to see it. In the back of a van, Brian driving in silence a few feet away, options are very limited.

He mentally picks through them, and goes with the one that seems most likely to result in a repeat experience. Worst case scenario he fucks this up and they’ll be awkward around him until the end of tour, and then he can go back to teching for bands he doesn’t bother to get to know. Bob doesn’t want worst case scenario, so he edges forward until his left leg is against Gerard’s ass, his right hanging off the seat. It’s awkward, but he leans and rests his chin on Gerard’s shoulder, curls his arm around his side. Gerard’s wearing a hoodie, of course, but it’s easy enough to snake his hand under the stretched waistband of it so he can touch the smooth skin of Gerard’s stomach.

Gerard flinches and Bob thinks his hand isn’t that cold, but he’s not even fooling himself with the thought. Gerard twists so he can look at Bob. “This doesn’t-” _bother you?_

Bob doesn’t have to look at Mikey’s stony expression to know the right answer. “Should it?” _yes, but fuck it_.

There’s a sudden weight on his leg as Gerard sits on him, but Bob doesn’t really care. As long as Gerard isn’t actively breaking his shin he’s not going to tell him to stop. Gerard nuzzles against Bob’s stomach, and there’s enough room in the hem of Gerard’s jeans -enough that they’re probably not actually even Gerard’s- for Bob to get his hand down them. Gerard’s hard against his briefs, Bob lets himself stroke the outline of his cock and Gerard twitches. Any noise he might have made is swallowed by Mikey’s mouth. Mikey’s hand sneaks between Gerard’s side and the seat to grab his. Bob laces his fingers between Mikey’s, hunter green Sharpie polish noticeable even in the dimness of the back seat.

Once he’s started, it’s easy to make the move from outside underwear to inside. There are only so many boundaries you can cross before you’re home free. He can’t be certain, but he thinks when he presses his thumb against the slit of Gerard’s cock he bites down on his brother’s lip, there’s a tiny grunt and Mikey’s hand squeezes his for a second, a reflex movement more than one that belies real pain.

Bob only gets a handful of strokes in before Gerard is grinding back, rubbing himself on him. It’s hot, not because Gerard is frotting him, he’s actually getting little dick coverage at all. It’s hot because he’s making this happen, him and Mikey.

Mikey’s grip tightens for a second time as Gerard comes. It’s a few seconds of Gerard slumped against him, boneless, before he sits properly and bends until his head is between his knees. Bob knows he’s looking for something to clean himself up with, but cant really be bothered with Gerard’s plight. He’s still hard, and he bets Mikey is too.

“Move over, fucker,” Mikey hisses. Bob’s become sort of a master at navigating seats, but he’s still impressed with how smoothly Gerard and Mikey switch places. Gerard immediately goes back to searching for a dirty piece of laundry -dirty being relative, of course, nobody’s going to look at a t-shirt that’s only been worn three times and call it dirty, not while on tour- to wipe himself off with. Mikey busies himself with opening the four buttons on his button fly jeans.

It’s a line that isn’t really there anymore when Bob jerks him with the hand that’s still coated in Gerard’s come. Mikey doesn’t kiss him, but he presses his woolly forehead against his and whispers “next time, you can’t imagine what will happen next time”. Bob considers himself to have quite a good imagination, actually, and the possibilities that run through his head have him biting at his lip ring and coming.

Mikey finishes a minute later, Bob doing his best to keep the same rhythm even as a wave of content exhaustion hits him. They both twist to rest their backs against the seat, and Bob closes his eyes. He hears rather than watches Mikey say “pass it when you’re done.”


End file.
